Take It To The Grave
by Chipsun
Summary: Five years. Five years since everything had ended and as much as he has been found, Castiel is still lost. As a human, there are so many things he cannot explain to himself. But at least - just this once - he'll be selfish.


**Title:** Take It To The Grave  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Cutting and character death.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> _I do not own Supernatural or "For Annie" by Edgar Allen Poe_.  
><strong>an:** I was never going to post it here, but it seems like people liked it on my Tumblr. Sorry for any mistakes here. I looked through it several times, but I may have missed one or two grammar or spelling mistakes.

* * *

><p>It's been five years now. Five years since the end of everything, and he is human. Permanently. He does not know what happened to his brothers or his Father; it seems inappropriate to care. The onslaught of emotions are overwhelming, and it is only recently he begins to be able to name the feelings in his chest. He has Dean to thank for that.<p>

He is so thankful, more than ever, that he has Dean because it is him that teaches him about the human world, that teaches him what it means to feel, and, above all, finally forgives him with a sad smile but accepting arms. It's when Dean finally forgives Castiel that the angel-turned-human feels an unimaginable pull tug at his chest, stealing his breath, and making his heart stutter.

He doesn't mention it to Dean, though. It feels wrong, somehow, to ask him. It kept him from saying anything, lying to him, and averting his eyes when his gaze seemed too calculating.

He suspects Sam knows, though, when he glances at him a look of - what was it again? Ah, yes. - pity.

The look is sent his way whenever Dean introduces a girlfriend to them. It causes an unfathomable rage that quickly spreads through him, and he dismisses himself before he loses control.

These are some of the few times that he wishes he were still an angel, unable to feel any emotion. As a human, he was pulled down, tossed around, swept away, and _smothered_ by emotions.

Still, though, he liked to think that maybe, just maybe, nothing like this would have ever happened. But his _'maybe's_ and_ 'what if's_ were useless. Even as an angel, he knew he would have fallen for him, anyway.

* * *

><p>Just seven years and it seems like Dean has found someone who would stick around. Permanently. For Dean's sake, and only his, Castiel is courteous to the girl.<p>

Charming, even.

The perfect host.

Every time he smiled at her, the rage burned and burned, and he would not do anything.

Anything for Dean.

Dean loved her, and whatever made him happy, Castiel would support. It's only after Dean tells him that he is engaged, that he took out his rage in other ways.

He experimented.

A couple weeks in, those _experiments_ were what distracted him from the world around him. He was careful, though. Careful as he could be. Lock the door. Pull out the razor. Cut. _'What would happen if I cut higher on my arm? Or my thigh?'_

It kept his thoughts away from the wedding, with him as Best Man, up there to see the one he loved marry another. He would cry. Though, hardly tears of joy.

But, four months away from the wedding, he was careless. The wedding was on his mind constantly, constantly, constantly, buzzing, pestering him - He had had enough. There is little finesse in it this time, and he makes little cuts until the porcelain sink is splattered with drops of crimson. He presses it down one more time, when the door opens, surprising him. His head whipped toward the doorway, a shocked Dean staring at his arm.

"Cas…?" He feels suddenly weak, then, and he stares at his arm in confusion.

It never did this.

It healed him of his pain, not broke him. His vision is blurry, and the red in front of him blends with the white.

_"Oh, god, Cas…_" With a wry smile, he realizes he has cut too deep.

* * *

><p>For thousands of years, he had watched humans love each other, care for each other. He had never realized how much it could <em>hurt. <em>And the worst thing is, he knows he's human, yet he _still can't grasp_ how complex they are.

He wakes up in a hospital bed.

He can't help but feel suffocated by the stark white walls and the over powering smell of nothing. Tentatively, he lifts one heavily bandaged arm to inspect it, seeing if he could get to the damage. A voice from beside him stops him from ripping it off.

"Why?"

"You could be asking me anything, Dean. Be more specific. If you were asking why I chose taupe curtains instead of-"

"Why did you cut?"

"Well, now, that isn't any of your business, is it?" Castiel can feel slight pride at his attempt at a dry tone.

A fist slams against the wall by Castiel's bed. "It's my _damn business_ when my _best friend _nearly _dies from cutting._" He doesn't look at Dean, just rubs his arms. "How long has this been going on, huh? What was so bad about your life that you had to - to _maim _yourself to make everything okay?"

Castiel wants to yell at him, scream at him, and just tell him, _"I have loved you far longer than __**she**__ has!" _But he only manages a weak shrug.

"Damn it, Cas," He can hear how tired Dean is through his voice. A moment of guilt squeezes his heart, but his selfishness shoves it away. "I though you would come talk to me if you felt down. That's what friends are for." Castiel glances up at him, but looks away just as quickly; Dean's eyes are tired and sad. He can't stand the look of hopelessness, of betrayal.

It is a tense few minutes, neither of them moving or speaking, when a voice from the doorway calls out to them.

"Dean? Cas, honey, how are you?" Their heads snap towards the doorway where Dean's fiancee is standing. He can't help but notice the way Dean immediately relaxes, his shoulders releasing their tension. "Come on, Dean, you can leave now. I can take care of him." He looks like he is about to protest, but cowers under her unamused stare. She pushes him out and shuts the door behind him.

"You love him." Not a question or statement. It is fact.

His silence is all she needs for confirmation.

"I see," Her shoulders are shaking. "I'm sorry, Castiel." She breaks out into quiet tears and turns around, walking to the bed. The woman grips his hands in hers and barely manages to choke out her words. "I suspected it. When… When we first met. I was doubtful, at first, but _it was all there. _You were selfless when it came to Dean. Smiles, reserved just for him. You sent smiles to Sam, too, but the crinkle in your eyes, _the way you looked at him, _was so full of love and adoration."

Castiel can feel the rage inside him, burning. He ignores it in favor of her words. "You were always polite. _Too _polite. Dean didn't notice it, but I did," He happens to glance up from their joined hands into her eyes, and somehow, he can't look away. He feels exposed. It scares him. "I saw everything."

"It was only later I was positive, however. The three of us had dinner, remember? Y-you had invited us for dinner, and - and you both moved at the same time to clear the dishes, when your shoulders brushed. It was chance, I guess, to see your face the split second it looked so happy, so_ content._" Her hands are holding his in a vice grip, and he dimly notes that his, too, are gripping her hands tightly. "I'm sorry, I know you love him, but…"

"He loves you." It suddenly feels like something has teared a hole into his chest. His breathing gets faster, and he moans, tears running down his cheeks. "He loves _you, _and he'll never look at me... _Why do you care_?_ Why must you torture me so?_"

She unwraps her hands from his and slowly pulls Castiel into a hug. "Please don't hurt yourself anymore," she murmurs softly. "Dean cares about you. And I love him just as much as you do. If not for my sake, but for Dean's, don't bottle it up and hurt yourself. Pour it all out." And he cries in her arms until the pulls and tugs in his chest are merely dull pains.

* * *

><p>Always there, and never not - It's been seven years since everything ended, and he's at the altar, waiting beside the groom for the bride to stride down the aisle. Seven years since he became a mere mortal, and he still cannot fathom how humans endured emotional pain. There, always there, but no one else could see it except for them. Just them, all alone.<p>

But he's smiling now, and today is the day he knows he will finally manage to stop loving Dean. He earned it, after all; he and Sam saved the world, after all. The bride is beautiful, of course - he helped pick the dress. She gives Castiel one last sad smile before turning to the groom. Vows are said, and he subtly averts his eyes when they kiss. He would stop loving Dean, for his sake and no one else. He would stop loving Dean, right then.

He hung himself a week after the wedding.

He had typed a mass text to everyone he knew (which was, admittedly, not many). Precisely an hour after, it would send. They would be too late.

* * *

><p><strong>To:<strong> Dean  
><strong>From:<strong> Cas  
><strong>Subject:<strong> no Subject  
><strong>Message:<strong>

_'That Heaven! the crisis-_  
><em>The danger is past,<em>  
><em>And the lingering illness<em>  
><em>Is over at last -<em>  
><em>And the fever called "Living"<em>  
><em>Is conquered at last.'<em>

_It was worth it._

_Thank you._

"What is it, Dean?" He looked towards his new wife, horror etched onto his features.

"Cas…!" The phone slipped from his trembling fingers, and fell down onto the soft carpet of their room. "Cas is..."

"So he's gone?" Dean's head snapped towards her in horror.

"You _knew?_"

"He loved you, Dean," She closed her eyes and turned on her side, away from him. "I would rather him be at peace than watch us together, for the rest of his life." Her voice was sad. He clenched his hands into fists. "Even if he had stayed, he would always be just a friend to you. How painful it must be, to be so close, yet so far away."

_'Hello, Tessa.'_

_'Are you ready to move on, Castiel?'_

_'I want to see Dean one more time,' A pause. 'Please.'_

_'Of course.'_


End file.
